The next morning in Social Studies class, Mr. Martinez’s bald head gleamed in the morning sun. He looked like a real live Kilroy-was-here.

Next to him stood Mrs. Crux, the art teacher.

I groaned. This was going to be another project where two teachers worked together. Those were always hard projects.

Mr. Martinez said, “How do you study history?”

We all looked at each other. Was this a trick question?

Bree raised her hand and said, “You study history by reading the history book.”

Mr. Martinez nodded. “Yes. What I should have said is, how do historians study history?”

We all looked at each other again. This was a very strange question.

I raised my hand and said, “They look at old things and read old books and old documents. I guess they like anything old.”

“Yes,” Mr. Martinez nodded.

But that wasn’t the answer he wanted. He waited.

No one said anything.

Mrs. Crux said, “Historians are almost like detectives. They study clues and made conclusions about the clues.”

“Historians are detectives?” Aja frowned.

Mrs. Crux and Mr. Martinez unrolled a huge piece of paper and taped it to the wall. It was a colorful mess of crazy art. One section had food wrappers taped down. Another section had lots of words.

“This is a piece of graffiti,” Mrs. Crux said. She explained that graffiti is painting or writing on the side of a building, sidewalk, fence, or in some public place. Kilroy-was-here was graffiti when it was drawn in a public place. If you write on the bathroom walls, that’s graffiti. Usually, you get in trouble for making graffiti, and Mrs. Crux reminded us we better not draw on school walls. “This time,” Mrs. Crux said, “I asked some teachers and staff to make graffiti posters.”

“Who made that poster?” Aja asked.

“That’s what you have to figure out.” Mr. Martinez beamed. “You must make observations about the graffiti poster. Next, you will guess who made it. That’s what historians do. They look at pieces of pottery or old letters. Then they guess how ancient people lived. And then they look for more clues to see if they guessed right or not.”

Mrs. Crux held up four more rolls of paper. “If you guess correctly, there will be prizes on Graffiti Day.”

“Prizes!” yelled Freddy. “I love prizes.”

I groaned, “Graffiti Day?”

Mrs. Crux’s beamed. “Graffiti Day has two parts. For the history part of Graffiti Day, you guess who made one of these posters. Remember, each poster was done by someone on the school’s staff. For the art part of Graffiti Day, we will be painting graffiti on the new schoolyard wall.”

That was a great idea. That long white wall needed color.

“What kind of graffiti will we paint?” Bree sounded excited.

“You have to do drawings and have your design approved,” Mrs. Crux said. “But beyond that, it’s up to you.”

Just one more thing worried me about Graffiti Day. “Do we have to work with someone else or just do it alone?”

“Team work!” said Mrs. Crux and Mr. Martinez together.

Mrs. Crux said, “You’ll do your own art project. But to figure out the graffiti posters, you’ll work in a team.”

The whole class slumped in our seats. Graffiti Day had sounded fun, but it was too good to be true. Teamwork was always hard.

Mrs. Crux said, “Each team will be given one poster to figure out.”

My group was just boys: Roman, Freddy, and Aja. Bree got Mary Lee, Ting, and Kailee—all girls. We would show those Earthling girls!

Mrs. Crux said, “Teams can take turns coming up and looking closely at the graffiti poster. Be sure to take notes on what you observe.”

“We need a list,” I said.

Teachers at Our School

Principal: Mrs. Lynx

Art: Mrs. Crux

Music: Mr. Vega

Language Arts: Mrs. Tarries

Health/Nutrition: Mrs. McGreen

Science: Mrs. Parrot

Social Studies: Mr. Martinez

Math: Mrs. Sand

P.E.: Mrs. Tan

When it was our turn to study our graffiti poster, I made another list.

Things on the Graffiti Poster

Torn piece of oatmeal box

Wrapper from a diet drink

White socks

Three peacock feathers

Map of Mexico

We stared at each other. Who would make a graffiti like that?

Freddy said, “It has to be a woman. Those are women’s socks.”

But Roman said, “Maybe. But what if they are from someone’s wife?”

“Who likes diet drinks?” I asked.

That was a clue we could work with. We just needed to watch teachers at lunchtime. Or watch them when they went in and out of the teacher’s room. Or, maybe look in their trashcans. We could find someone with a diet drink, I was sure.

The graffiti words were not in English. I copied some of them down. Later, I would look them up on the Internet.

We talked about each graffiti clue and decided that we needed to observe the teachers better. The Graffiti Day contest was hard! But the boys team would beat the girls team.

At home, I dropped my book bag on the kitchen table. I grabbed a snack and went out to the greenhouse. I sat cross-legged and talked to my brother, the Green Egg. I told him all about crazy Earthling schools and about Graffiti Day.

“If someone looked at things in our house,” I said, “they would know we are aliens. We live on Earth now, but we are still Bixsters.”

The greenhouse door opened and shut. Dad sat cross-legged beside me and asked, “Have you been out here long?”

I shrugged. “I’m just talking to Greenie Boy. Will we give him a Bixster name or an Earthling name?”

“Both,” Dad said.

“Did you know that there are lots of words for green in English? I could call him Greenie Boy, Avocado Boy, Forest Green Boy, Lime Boy, or Jade Boy. Those are all synonyms for the word green.” I ran a finger down the side of my brother’s egg. “Dad, will we ever go home to Bix?”

Dad sighed. “We are still trying to call home, but it doesn’t work. We might be here a long time.”

I blinked, because my eyes were suddenly full of tears. Avocado Boy would hatch on Earth, not on Bix where he should be. I couldn’t change that. But I didn’t have to like it. I didn’t mind this Earth adventure. It was interesting. And fun. But a baby should hatch at home, not in a strange place. I blinked hard.

I changed the subject. Changing the subject is when you talk about something else so you don’t have to talk about what worries you.

“I don’t like Jade Boy out here all alone,” I said. “What if something happens? Can we set up a video camera?”

“Great idea!” Dad jumped right up. Maybe he needed that change of subject, too.

We went right then and bought a video camera. We hooked it up to the Internet and my cell phone, Mom’s cell phone and Dad’s cell phone.

Now, I could watch Emerald Boy any time I wanted. And while I was at school, Mom or Dad could watch him.

When I showed Bree the Egg Cam, the video of Evergreen Boy, she asked, “How do you know it’s a boy?”

That surprised me, but it shouldn’t. How on Earth would she know anything about Bixster eggs? “Green eggs are always boys. Yellow eggs are always girls.”

“Not pink?”

“Ugh. Pink eggs would be ugly,” I said.

“If I was hatched from an egg, I would want a pink egg,” Bree said.

Earthling girls like pink WAY too much.